


fall (you'll be all right)

by clearlykero



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Gang Rape, Humiliation, M/M, Vomiting, mob, spider gag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:56:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearlykero/pseuds/clearlykero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akashi gets himself into a bad, bad situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	fall (you'll be all right)

**Author's Note:**

> this is not a nice story. originally supposed to be a valentine’s release, but it’s maybe a little nasty for that hahaha. seriously it isn’t pretty, please pay attention to the archive warnings!

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is how dark it is. There’s something covering his entire head, heavy and opaque. He doesn’t think before he tries to reach up and remove the cover and then he freezes. It  _hurts_. His arms are twisted behind his back and bound with something that clinks when he moves— most likely handcuffs. It’s not just that; his whole body aches like he’s played two matches in a row, and there is a terrible, nauseating agony in two of the fingers on his right hand.

_They’re broken_ , Akashi thinks, and immediately thinks of something else.

There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with his mental acuity, so he probably hasn’t been drugged. An air-conditioner blows cool air onto his bare chest. He’s still wearing his uniform trousers, but nothing else: no socks, no shoes, no underwear… Someone took the trouble to strip and re-dress him. He doesn’t like where this is going.

“Hey, I think he’s up.” Young, male, sounds vaguely familiar but he can’t place it. Though Akashi has a long list of people he’s wronged, he can’t think of anyone who would go to this extreme. _Think harder._

“Oh? How’s our star player doing, hm?” Different voice. How many of them are there?

“Better than you’ll be doing after I’m through with you,” he says. His mouth is dry; the words don’t sound like he wants them to, and they come out muffled by the bag over his head.

“Arrogant as ever.” This one sounds older, and his raspy voice comes from startlingly close. Akashi manages to stamp down the instinctive urge to flinch away. “Let’s see if we can’t take you down a peg or two,” the man says, pulling off the hood.

White fluorescent light shines on his face. Akashi squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden brightness. There is a sour, clenching ache in the pit of his stomach. They obviously don’t care if he sees their faces, which only means they have little to lose or they plan on forcing him into silence. Neither option is good. It’s impossible for him to overpower them. One, he could take, possibly even two if he got lucky. But there are at least three of them whereas he’s tied up and injured— the only thing that seems doable is trying to talk himself out of the situation.

It’s only when Akashi opens his eyes and sees  _seven_  people in the room, all looking at him like he’s a sideshow attraction— a piece of  _meat_ — that he realizes the sick feeling squirming in his guts is fear.

“Open up, Akashicchi,” one of them says, patting his cheek. Akashi wants to rip something apart, wants to draw deep red lines in their throats.

“Don’t—”  _call me that_ , he tries to snap, but the moment he starts speaking they force gloved fingers in and hold his jaw open. A gag— not a gag, it’s not meant to keep him from speaking, it’s a cold metal ring behind his teeth that stretches his mouth wide. He tries working at it with his tongue; if it flips sideways he could get it out. Too late, he realizes it has slim protrusions on either side of his face to stop him from doing just that. A hand shoves a pill into his mouth, holds it on the back of his tongue until it dissolves. It could have been anything— he shouldn’t have let them get it in. The raspy-voiced man clicks the cuffs open. This is his chance to get away.

But Akashi doesn’t resist as his hands are moved around to his front and cuffed again.

They surround him now, some standing, some kneeling, and the older man from earlier motions to two of the others. Akashi doesn’t even have time to kick out before they’ve cut the tape binding his ankles and push him onto his back. His trousers come off and he’s starting to notice that his muscles don’t work right: everything is too relaxed and fluid and he can’t fight back. The room is cold but sweat beads on his skin anyway. 

A video-camera is set up right in front of him. He looks away and a tall,  lank-haired man is holding another one. He didn’t notice the cameras earlier— he’s really out of it. The feeling in his fingers is dulled too, especially now that they’re just resting on the floor above his head, but every time they jostle his hands (by accident or intention, he doesn’t know) it still sends pain lancing up his arms.

“You’ve got such a pretty face, Akachin,” says the tall man and Akashi can’t hold back the shudder because when he talks like that he sounds  _just like Atsushi_.

He doesn’t even know who these people are, and if they know him well enough to know the quirks of his old teammates then he’s in trouble— why can’t he just remember? Why can’t he recognize any of them?

“If you’re trying to guess who we are it’s not going to work, baby,” says a light-haired one with glasses. He smiles at Akashi sweetly, but Akashi knows that smile. It’s been on his own face before— it never means anything good.

“Yeah, you’ve never had anything to do with us, y’know? We just— ow, fuck, what?”

“Stop running your mouth,” the older man snaps at the young one who was just speaking. “Get to it.” The boy (still in high-school, it looks like, maybe the first one who spoke after he woke up) rolls his eyes and drops to his knees, straddling Akashi’s chest. He reaches towards Akashi’s cuffed wrists, rubs them thoughtfully.

“Boss, you think two fingers is enough?”

“Within reason, Okamoto,” the raspy-voiced man replies. Okamoto huffs. Akashi can’t breathe.

He takes hold of Akashi’s broken fingers and lifts them up, and Akashi’s vision tunnels alarmingly. It hurts so unbelievably much— the pain is all he can feel, the dizzying sensation of tiny bones grinding together and slipping out of their sockets, his stomach clenching and the bitter taste of bile mixing with saliva to slide slowly down his chin. The boy smirks and lets go; when Akashi’s hands thud to the floor again he’s only just quick enough to turn his head before he’s throwing up, vomit puddling on the parquet flooring.

“Fuck—” Okamoto gets off him, disgusted, but the men holding Akashi’s legs don’t budge. “Oi, Narusawa, help me clean this shit up.” The tall man with the video camera nods.

Akashi closes his eyes and makes use of the reprieve, forces his drug-foggy brain to  _think_. They’re being far too incautious. First faces, now names— then a burst of pain in his cheek shatters his thought process. He looks up: it’s the boss, palm still raised. This close, he looks older than Akashi had first estimated.

“Don’t do that again, or I’ll make you clean it with your tongue,” he whispers, breath warm on Akashi’s face. Akashi nods and more bile-tinged drool drips down the sides of his face. He’s still calm— he’s not going to work himself into hysterics. They can put him through all the humiliation in the world and as long as he keeps his hands from being any more injured he’ll get through this.

Someone hands the older man a cup of water, and he holds it to  Akashi’s mouth. “Swallow,” he says roughly. It’s hard— his mouth is open too wide for swallowing to be comfortable and he ends up coughing out a lot of it. The man doesn’t seem annoyed, though, and Akashi eyes him warily as he gestures to one of the others. 

“Fuck him.”

.

There’s some sort of aphrodisiac in his system, because there is no way he enjoys this. He feels like he’s going to throw up again but there’s nothing left in his stomach; he can only retch around the cock in his mouth and wants desperately to bite down, to just castrate all these bastards who don’t know their place and take them slowly apart, piece by bloody piece. His teeth grind against the metal ring.

“You’ll ruin your smile if you keep doing that,” says Okamoto, grinning. Okamoto touches Akashi’s fingers again, the broken ones, laughing when he jerks away. He gets a hard slap for that.

“Stay still, fucking whore,” growls the dark-skinned man who’s using his mouth, who fists a hand in his hair and holds him in place like he’s a masturbation aid.

Akashi finds himself wishing that all of them were like Okamoto— pain is infinitely preferable to this dirty,  _false_  pleasure that makes him moan helplessly when their boss fucks into him. They’ve taken turns in him and left him sloppy for the boss— he’s slick and  _welcoming_  and when the man groans, hands clamping on Akashi’s hips, cold tendrils of loathing slither down Akashi’s spine. 

He isn’t sure how much more of this he can take. His jaw hurts, he’s definitely torn something because they started fucking him dry— but more than everything he is terrified because he has no idea how long they’ll keep him here. No idea how long his broken fingers will go untreated.

“Sweetheart,” says the pretty glasses-wearing one. “let’s make you feel good too, hmm?”

_No_ , Akashi thinks, desperate,  _no, please—_

Cool fingers slide around his cock and squeeze, gently, stroke him until he can’t keep the noises in, can’t stop trying to ask for help that he knows isn’t going to come— he feels his control slip, fracture, crumble along with a part of himself that he doesn’t think he’ll ever get back. The dark-skinned man grunts and comes in his mouth and he swallows because the man won’t pull out, won’t let him spit it out, and he’s going to choke so he doesn’t have a choice.

Through it all the man with glasses is jerking him off, wracking his body with spasms of pleasure that he doesn’t want. Akashi thinks of his team, thinks of Tetsuya and Shintarou and everyone; he tries to keep his mind on the fact that he won’t be here forever but he can’t, and he is fucking  _breaking_.

“Just let go,” the boss whispers in his ear, and tears spill out of Akashi’s eyes and

he

falls.

.

.

**Author's Note:**

> nope, you never find out who the gang members are. just random people who don't like our poor akashi. i like to think the miragen come busting in to save him soon after this ends, but maybe they don't... who knows d:


End file.
